


How We Roll

by micehell



Category: Jericho (US 2006)
Genre: AU (alternate ending of show), Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-02
Updated: 2009-08-02
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew they'd changed the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How We Roll

**Author's Note:**

> This is AU only because it's based on the alternate ending for the last episode. If they hadn't canceled it, maybe this is how it would have played out... yeah, I didn't believe it either, but I can dream. *porn dreams* Also, as far as I know, there's no real place in Colorado called Luma Ridge (sorry if there is), but I decided, just for the hell of it, that it was around Gunnison National Forest. So there.
> 
> Ooh, and just so you know, there's a little joke in the story based off of one of the actor's credits. If you catch it, yays, if not... okay, I'll put it in at the bottom, just in case anyone actually cares. :P

_The right engine sputters, nothing but fumes keeping it going now. They lost the left one already, so Jake doesn't really have the attention to pay to it he should, his whole body shaking as he tries to keep the nose of the plane up._

_He should have used 285 as a landing strip back when they went over Alamosa, but there'd been an Allied station nearby, and he hadn't dared. Now they're closer to their destination, but 114's too far away for them to make it, and the land leading into Gunnison National Forest is full of, God help them for being obvious, trees, and about a thousand streams that make for poor landing._

_If he could have flown higher, they'd have made it easy. But higher meant radar, which meant Allied jets, and Jake had met enough of those this last couple of days to last a lifetime._

_Not that their lifetime is likely to be all that much longer, since the right engine is giving it up, a last gasp before it dies, and Jake can sympathize. His arms are on fire, even with Chavez trying to help, but the plane's dropping too fast. They're too close to the Jetstream, CAT chopping up the air, and he can't get any lift under the wings. It's like steering a brick, and he can see the trees coming closer, the ground right beyond, and there's no way to avoid them._

_They're coming. Closer. Closer._

_Here._

**Six Days After They Changed The World**

A guard stopped a jeep at the checkpoint, looking over ID before saluting and signaling his partner to buzz the gate open. It was a familiar sight, one Jake had seen at bases the world over. It just sucked that this time he was definitely on the wrong side of the gate.

Or the right side, considering that that wasn't really a base, and it was certainly no place Jake wanted to _stay_. But Hawkins was somewhere over there, and it didn't matter how much he'd said _mission first_ and _it's a far, far better thing_ , Jake didn't leave anyone behind.

Heck, Jake wouldn't have left Beck in this place, not even after what had happened. He sure as hell wasn't leaving Hawkins, who was... whatever the fuck a handful of shared secrets, a loaded moment at the end of a gun, and a quick blowjob in an alley made them. Jake had always sucked at relationships, and the end of the world as they'd known it wasn't making it any easier.

A shoulder nudged him, bringing his attention back to the problem at hand. Chavez had picked up a fair amount of intel on Luma Ridge at Sillsville on their way in, doing scut work for a bar that the convoys stopped at sometimes. These kids were too young to have heard _loose lips sink ships_ , too ignorant of their own history, and it wasn't like the Allied States was all that keen to educate them, at least not to anything before the bombs.

But even with the intel he'd got, and the scant amount of rumor Jake had picked up at the refugee center outside of town, they hadn't heard one word about Hawkins. Even Chavez, with his diehard _keep going until you succeed or they kill you_ optimism, couldn't figure if that was good news or not.

_The guy's eyes were wide, pupils blown with some kind of drug that he'd either stolen or home grown in these lean times, but it's the knife in his hand that makes Jake step back. Chavez had warned him to keep an eye out, to remember that even with the Allied government stepping back into the towns to restore a semblance of normality, that things had still changed. Jake, with all that polite helpfulness that his parents and his grandfather had worked so hard to drill into him, and that he'd ignored too often in his life, had just chosen the wrong time to be the good samaritan._

_"You won't get it. You won't get me!"_

_Jake's trying to meet the guy's eyes to get across a sincerity he doesn't feel, and yet still trying to keep the knife in sight. "Hey, buddy, it's okay. I'm not trying to get anything here. I just thought you needed a hand up."_

_The guy swipes the knife at him and Jake backs up, though he'd wanted to angle further out of the alley, not deeper into it. He has a bad history with alleys, Goetz back in Jericho just the most recent bad example, but the guy's not giving Jake room to maneuver, crazy and unpredictable giving him an advantage that Jake doesn't want to test._

_"I told you, I told you, no more! No more! I can't anymore."_

_He's near tears, and Jake's trying to figure if that'll work to his advantage or not, but he has his answer when the knife swings in on his left side, and the guy's other hand swings in on his right, catching Jake in the jaw as he jumps away from the knife._

_It's not got a lot of strength behind it, but it rings through his head, anyway. Days of Beck's idea of hospitality, followed almost immediately by Hawkins' idea of saving the world, and then Jake's own mission to set it right, and it's been too long since Jake could sleep well. Too long since he'd been running on anything but will. He wavers, seeing the glint as the knife comes at him, but unable to avoid it._

_It takes him a minute before he wonders why he isn't dead. His head is finally clearing, his sight un-doubling enough that he can see Chavez there, the knife now in one of his hands, the other hand pushing at crazy guy's back, steering him out of the alley with soft reassurances that he's safe, and that he should go._

_That's apparently the magic words, because the guy leaves, nodding and smiling, not even asking for the knife back. Chavez turns back to Jake, a grin on his lips, the smug tilt of it just about shouting _I told you to be careful_._

_Jake's okay with that. He's too tired, too fucking tired to care anymore. He's hit by a wave of _wanting_ : Hawkins, home, his mother, his _father_ , fuck, anything but here._

_Chavez' hand is a callused weight on his face, the ridges caused by handling a gun catching slightly on Jake's chapped lips. Jake's never been the type for casual anything, but Emily is the dream from his old life, Hawkins is... Hawkins and not here and an enigma all his own, and Chavez is warm, so warm, as he takes Jake in hand._

_He's not sure what Chavez is getting out of it, besides Jake's own hand on his dick, but Jake kisses and touches and fucks like it's a lifeline; the only sane thing in this crazy, crazy world._

_It's another alley, and it's another man that Jake calls only by his last name, not even sure if it's the right one, but he comes hard, knowing who's touching him, wanting that touch, and it's enough for right now._

_Just enough._

**Ten Days After They Changed The World**

The patrol went by slowly, fifteen vehicles full of soldiers on full alert, eyes of almost every color sliding by, tracking.

Chavez and Hawkins blended into the undergrowth they were hiding in with ease, even with the brief flare of pain that crossed over Hawkins' face as he settled in. Jake just tried not to _breathe_ , even while grumbling to himself about bastard CIA agents who showed him up just ten days after being shot. Jake had taken a bullet back in Iraq, one in South America before that; he knew how much the fuckers hurt, and for far longer than it seemed in the movies. He should have guessed Hawkins would be like the short, skinny version of Rambo, though.

They all breathed easier when the patrol finally passed, it was just that Jake was the only one who had to struggle for air afterward. He made a mental note to himself to remember to breathe next time. And there would be a next time; unfortunately there was no doubt about that.

Chavez either read his thoughts, or was on the same wavelength, because he sighed. "That's the third patrol that's almost passed right over us since last night. We have got to make some speed, get far enough away that the patrols will be thinner." He looked at Hawkins, face grim. "I hate to ask it, but do you think you can step it up a bit?"

Hawkins gave the half-smile, half-grimace he always gave Jake when Jake presented one of his ideas to him. "Since it's our only way out, why not?"

Jake sighed at that, even though he knew Hawkins wasn't taking a shot at him. It hadn't been anyone's fault, really. Just that it was two guys going up against five well-armed soldiers, and not even the element of surprise had been enough to fully contain all of them quickly.

If they'd had more time to plan, more time to get supplies, it might have been different, but their first word of Hawkins had been the notice that they were looking in the wrong place all that time. He'd been in the infirmary, not the camp. Jake, who'd been thinking more along the line of dank cells and torture than hospital beds and painkillers, had only felt a short burst of relief, though, because the word that they'd got was that Hawkins was being moved the next day. The infirmary, with its lower security, with its fewer guards, was a much better chance of success, and they'd almost lost it altogether just because they hadn't known. There'd been no way they could just let it go once they did know. They'd had to try.

That had been Tuesday... maybe Wednesday. Fuck, Jake didn't know, just that it had been eight days after they'd changed the world like Hawkins wanted to. He'd long lost which day of the week he was on, but he'd never lost that count.

On day nine, they'd waylaid the convoy taking Hawkins over to the main camp. They'd shorted out the fence close to a stand of trees on the far side of the base, not too far from the infirmary, but still away from the main part of the prison. It was jerryrigged, like their ammunition was (cocktails made out of gas they'd stolen and Chavez' gun he'd carried from Texas), but they'd hoped to be in and out. Hoped one of the transport vehicles would be used in their escape.

They'd won in the end, finally taking down the last two guards that had held them up, but by that point the gas tank on the transport had been hit, leaking out gas like blood. They'd heard the response to the alert the two guards had gotten out getting closer, and all they'd been able to do was run, taking a thankfully healing and alert Hawkins with them. It was mostly luck that they'd made it to day ten at all.

Chavez pulled Hawkins up, then did a quick swap of their supplies so that Hawkins wasn't carrying any of it. He and Hawkins looked down at Jake, Hawkins' eyebrow raised in question. "You coming?"

Jake let Chavez pull him up, too, making a mental note to bring a pillow to sit on on his next rescue mission. "Since it's our only way out, why not?"

_Chavez and Hawkins are both annoyed at the full moon shining brightly over them. Jake pretends to agree. It's beautiful, and even if it makes things difficult, he still finds part of himself appreciating the beauty amongst the fear and exhaustion._

_It's the moon that lets him see the trap, a glint on metal up ahead in the rocks. He tries to keep his voice down, but he's almost too quiet when he hisses. "Up ahead. Someone in the rocks."_

_He's not sure whether Chavez and Hawkins hear him, but either the soldiers in the rocks do, or the timing is just bad, because a shot rings out, spewing up dirt and rock shrapnel at Jake's feet. He feels the sting as the rock cuts into his legs, but he's running before he can register it as pain. He hears Chavez and Hawkins to the side of him, hears Chavez' gun shoot back once. Ammo is too dear, and there won't be any firing without a target._

_The other side doesn't have that handicap, a hail of bullets landing around them, only the trees and darkness saving them from being killed outright. Hawkins has Jake's pack open, and the click of the lighter tells him what's going on. He ducks as Hawkins throws, expecting to hear the explosion as it hits the target._

_But the target finds them instead, the cocktail pulled out of Hawkins hand by the bullet that hits it. Gas is spewing out as it hits the ground, catching against the wick still burning at the top. Chavez leaps for it, but it's too bright, too hot, and Jake watches in horror as the flame grows._

**Fourteen Days After They Changed The World**

Jake woke up screaming, the sound muted by a hand over his mouth. It was warm and callused and Jake doesn't know if it's Hawkins' or Chavez'; one of them full of easy smiles and bold as brass, the other full of sarcasm and slyness, and yet at their core, they're so much alike.

He nodded his head and the hand retreated, Chavez' face coming into focus when Jake opened his eyes, Hawkins' right behind him. They have identical expressions of worry.

Chavez' hand is on him again, resting on his shoulder now. "Hey, you still having those dreams?"

Hawkins' expression sharpened at that. They hadn't slept much since they'd got him loose, so he hadn't seen the aftermath of the dreams like Chavez had.

Jake said, "Yeah," but didn't offer more. It was embarrassing enough that he'd woken them up, without laying out his neuroses for them, too.

It wasn't even that they were nightmares that bothered Jake so much; he'd had more than his share of those. It was that they were more memories, just with the endings mutating into the worst case scenario. The plane crashing instead of the rough landing he'd managed to get. The crazy guy with the knife gutting him. The ambush two days ago taking them all out. He knew it was stress, anxiety feeding him what he'd been afraid would happen instead of what had, but it was making it hard to get any rest, and, fuck, he really needed it.

They all did, even Chavez looking worn and grizzled by this point, his regulation hair growing out into uneven spikes that strangely matched the motley beard he had going. Hawkins' hair had bits of grass and pine needles in it, his goatee looking bushier. Jake didn't even want to know what he looked like, the coarse growth of beard he'd carried since before Beck had arrested him now grown soft with length. He probably looked like the scarecrow version of Grizzly Adams.

And yet here they were, the first night they'd felt safe enough to set only minimal guard, wide awake instead of getting the rest they needed because Jake's subconscious decided it needed to vent. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see their concern, and said it again. "Yeah." It really did say it all.

He couldn't see the looks they were passing each other, but he could almost hear them. They were so in sync; able to understand one another with a glance, and Jake wished he could speak the language.

The hand that moved from his shoulder to his face, the one that ran from his ankle to his thigh, that was a language he knew. Knew it, but didn't understand the context, not here and now. Not with both of them. He eyes flew open at the touches, though, wanting to know.

Chavez' face was amused, his eyes half-lidded. Like they'd been in that alley, need and comfort. Friendship given and received.

Hawkins' face was giving nothing away, but he hadn't last time his hand had been that close to Jake's dick, either. The hand was moving closer, though, invitation, a chance to say no; Hawkins was tied to him in somehow, hyper-aware of Jake in a way he wasn't of most people, but he would never go where he wasn't wanted.

So much alike, and so not alike at all, and, God, Jake wanted them both. He didn't know why they were offering him this now, except that they liked him. That they were tired and hurting, too. Exhausted and homesick, and looking for something familiar. Something trusted. Just like Jake.

He laughed out loud at that thought, earning himself twin confused looks, which just made him laugh harder. He'd never considered how much he had in common with them before. That they might look at him and see someone who'd understand why they were the way they were. Who would respect it, and not expect them to live a 9-5 life, with the white picket fence, and the hearts and flowers attention they didn't have time to give.

It felt good to laugh, but not as good as the warm thumb sliding along his lips, the long fingers running up his inseam. He arched into one, opened his mouth to the other. It was answer enough, and all of them understood.

Jake was too impatient, not even waiting until Chavez could get his pants off. He just pushed the man down, dragging his pants and boxers down past his hips, then digging his fingers tight into firm ass and thighs as he took the hardening dick into his mouth.

He was bent over Chavez, his ass in the air, an invitation Hawkins took him up on, hands just as impatient as his own working his belt and buttons in quick jerks. The fingers that Hawkins pushed into him were impatient, too, but careful, and Jake moaned around Chavez as they stretched him open, making Chavez moan in turn.

Hawkins didn't have anything but spit, and it had been a while for Jake; it hurt, enough that he pulled off of Chavez, panting as he waited it out. Chavez ran soft hands through his hair, not pulling him down, but calming him, a mumble of words that might have been supposed to mean something, but were turned to gibberish by arousal and long, long days.

Jake's body opened up to Hawkins inch by inch, and he sighed when Hawkins was all the way in. Chavez and Hawkins both read that as a signal, Hawkins pulling out and sinking in again as Chavez' grip on Jake's hair grew tighter, guiding him back so that Chavez' dick, red and slick, pushed past his lips again.

There was a hand on his neck, one in his hair, holding him in place. There was another on his back, one hard on his hip, holding him in place. There was the ebb and flow as one dick pushed into his ass, and then the other slid down his throat. It was like being contained, being owned, the _authority_ they held, the control of his body, and nothing, not the exhaustion weighing him down, the fear that he'd lived with, fuck, forever, not even the pain of being stretched past what he could easily take, could keep him from being more turned on than he'd ever been. He just had time to wonder how many daddy issues he was going to carry for the rest of his life when he broke open, orgasm hitting him like the best brick wall ever, his body going lax in the hands holding him, around the men fucking him, and he could almost have slept like that, warm and thrumming and happy.

He had just enough presence of mind to swallow around Chavez as he came, to tighten his ass until Hawkins followed, but that was it. He was vaguely aware of voices around him, hands pulling his clothing back in order, but it was like a dream, distant and unreal.

**Seventeen Days After They'd Changed The World**

Chavez and Hawkins were both asleep. Jake felt a smug smile fill his face. Daddy issues or not, he knew how to give as good as he got.

Thanks to an old clunker they'd found that had gotten them almost a hundred miles before it had run out of gas, it would only be another three days until they'd be close enough to Jericho to see patrols. If there were any. If things hadn't gotten worse since they'd been gone.

Jake felt a little guilty about that. About Emily and Darcy, and expectations and responsibilities. This would never be easy, what they had. It probably even wouldn't be all that long, not with the life expectancy they were likely to have with what they'd have to do. It would definitely never be the type of relationship romances were written about.

But Jake was learning. He now knew what some of those secret looks meant. Knew what Chavez had done before the bombs, what Hawkins had done to make Darcy so mad. Knew that Morgan and Robert were their real names, even if Chavez and Hawkins weren't.

He knew that they'd changed the world. Now all they had to do was live with it.

/story

**Author's Note:**

> AN pt 2: Okay, the joke was naming Chavez Morgan, which was his name in _The Collector_. I actually was amused when I watched the show, 'cause I kept expecting Chavez to be all moody and angst-ridden, and then having to remind myself it was a different show. ;)


End file.
